


Shooting Stars

by kinpika



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Drabble Collection, Gen, M/M, Multi, Multiple Pairings, Multiple Ratings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-16 09:16:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5822971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinpika/pseuds/kinpika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Ensemble Stars! ficlets that vary in pairing, rating and length. Random updates.</p><p>Updates:<br/>- Izumi solo</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. senanaru: imagine

_“Imagine I’m_ him _, Izumi.”  
_

It’s easier said than done. When he drags a hand through Arashi’s hair, soft and silky from too many products, it’s not the same. The eyes are different. Arashi’s are knowing, piercing, like he gets something Izumi doesn’t, and isn’t above dangling it far from understanding. Arashi is cruel, in that way. He has never played fair, even when it was the three of them. 

Three of them. No, it was just the two. Izumi wondered when it had become two.

Two of them, like this. Locked doors, pants around ankles, Arashi on his knees, teasing and knowing and telling him to  _call that name_  like it will help. It never helps. It’s nice to imagine when he’s alone at home, at three in the morning, but its only two in the afternoon and it’s not  _him_.

“Naru-”

Arashi was his first. And Izumi is pretty sure that he was Arashi’s too. Despite the act like he knows everything, Arashi didn’t get this. It was all too fun for him. Izumi remembers their first time with clarity and wishes he could choke on his own spit so he would never have to again.

“This is so shit.” Head falling back with a  _thunk_ , Izumi lets himself be moulded, held, pushed and pulled. Drowns out the slurping and the moaning and lets himself wind his hands back into Arashi’s hair. Imagines its someone else’s. Imagines someone else is staring up at him, taking in every response.

Tries to, because only Arashi’s voice fills the room, and it’s hard to ignore whats in front of him now.

 

After practice, he finally asks. “Who do you think of?”

Arashi smiles, like he’d been waiting for that question for a while. His palm is dry against Izumi’s cheek. Anyone looking over would think they’re just messing around. “ _You_.”

Colour rushes to Izumi’s cheeks at the honesty there, in those eyes that aren’t  _his._  “Liar.”

It’s gone. Arashi is laughing it off with a pinch, standing and waving his arms. “Shitty Okama,” Izumi mutters, when he just misses a smack to the head. And he is shit, shit and overzealous and too much for Izumi to handle. 

 

But 

Arashi knows him best. 


	2. leotsu: same

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for oj

Leo finds Tsukasa funny. And sweet. And soft.

That’s just the start of it. There’s also the voice and the hair and the way he  _smiles_  when it’s just him at the centre of the universe. And, Leo can understand. Maybe it’s something they have in common, that middle of ground of being middle. It’s amusing to Leo.

Seeing Tsukasa fired up in the event, as he shouted that he would end those who threatened Knights, Leo believed him. And he knew that they were the same. Maybe Tsukasa understood that too, and opened up. Or Leo stopped to listen. Something like that.

“What are you thinking about, Leader?”

Opening an eye, Leo stares up at Tsukasa, wide eyed and soft lipped, spending far too much time with the likes of Arashi and Izumi. At least if he spent more time with Ritsu, Leo wouldn’t have to be so worried about the state of his skin (in his opinion, the  _former_  models insisted on far too much product to be healthy. Leo ran away whenever he could just before performances, especially when Arashi brought out the blush).

Lazily, he reaches up, rapping his knuckles against Tsukasa’s cheeks. Ah, all clear. With a grin, Leo reaches up with his other hand, splays his fingers on either side of Tsukasa’s face… and rubs circles into his skin.

“You’re so soft, Tsukasa~”

The reaction is instant, with Tsukasa spluttering and waving him off, a blush high on his cheeks as he looked away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Laughter leaves Leo, as he’s thrown off of Tsukasa’s lap. But he doesn’t mind, because Tsukasa is trying his hardest to look upset, but there’s that lower lip jumping. 

And he smiles. 


	3. wataru: feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for oj

Wataru likes him. That’s all there is to it. Surely that is enough to understand.

But it isn’t. Each flourish, each show of affection; it’s all simply brushed off. Everything is swept under the rug and forgotten. Simply because, he is Wataru, and he is Eichi, and that is all they are.

And it drives him mad. How is he supposed to show how he feels? Why doesn’t Eichi understand? It’s not as hard as he insists on making it out to be. Feelings are simple, and Wataru is able to convey them every day.

In front of a crowd, Wataru is able to make the crowd  _ooh_  and  _aah_  with words, sounds,  _feelings_. Feelings. That’s all it is. Simple and effective and real. This time, Wataru knows they are real.

Leaning against the door, Wataru watches as Eichi moves around the council room, shuffling papers, humming a small tune. Wataru recognises it as the new song, one he’d caught Eichi planning nearly a week ago. Apparently not even the vice-president had heard it yet, and Wataru loved that fact. 

“I like you.”

Eichi smiles down at his papers. “I know.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

Wataru can’t help but grit his teeth at that. It’s the same thing every time. Dismissiveness is Eichi’s best friend when it comes to being human. Just once… just once he’d like a better answer. A truer answer. 

Smoothing his face into a completely complacent mask once Himemiya and Yuzuru join them, Wataru gave up. Stonewalled, constantly. It was tiring. Acting like nothing was wrong was tiring, and that was something Wataru had never felt before. 

Maybe this was the end. Maybe he should cut himself down right now, before Eichi finally did. Despite the wave of his hand and the laughter and the  _magic_ , Wataru knew it wasn’t quite there. 

For now at least, once he spies Eichi covering his laughter with a hand, Himemiya beside him practically glowing. Wataru’s heart drops, and maybe its the drama. The suspense. The knowledge that the ending will be bittersweet. 

Eichi reels him back in, like a great play from the sixteenth century, with nothing but tragedy around the corner. Wataru was practically pulled along by the strings of his hands

And he didn’t mind at all.


	4. izumi: self

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> caribou asked: prompt: izumi sena
> 
> ara () izu –> mako

Izumi always started the same way. Lights low, sliding off his pants, breathing even. No change in heart rate as he double checked the lock on his door, made his way over to the bed. Nothing to make him stutter as it was all too mechanic, to practiced, reaching into his bedside table for the necessities. Lube, magazines… condoms thrown beside him until he decided if he could be bothered.

Less mess, less questions on bin day when he threw out his rubbish. Kaoru was the one who had suggested it, that one time they had ended up on the topic of modelling and why Izumi was doing it. There had been an elbow driven into his side as Kaoru had wiggled his eyebrows. Izumi had considered pushing him out the open window behind him for that.

Ah, he didn’t want to think about Kaoru right now. Making a face, Izumi definitely did not want to think of Kaoru as he touched his cock. Worst person to think about. 

At half mast after a few strokes, Izumi wondered if it was worth it. Thinking about Kaoru had killed any sort of warmth in him. Stupid ugly blond with his stupid pointed words.

 _“You’ve been thinking about_ him _again, haven’t you?”  
_

Gritting his teeth, Izumi drags his eyes over to the magazine beside him. Just before they had all decided to focus on school. Three of them on the cover, just barely touching. Izumi still remembered how Makoto felt that day, a hair’s breadth between their chests.

It’s like a shot then, straight down his spine. There it is, he thinks with a sigh, leaning back into his pillows as he presses his thumb just a touch more against the base of his cock. Makoto, he breathes, running from base to tip and back again, working along the vein there, knowing how it felt. Too good.

Planting his feet, Izumi reaches out blindly to turn the page. This was an old issue, but he knew exactly how many pages to turn before he got to Makoto’s spread. Why didn’t he ever go into gravure? Makoto would’ve looked good in that. Maybe it was too mechanic, how the exact same thoughts filled him as he built, just like every other time. 

_Makoto, Makoto, Makoto –_

Izumi hadn’t meant to turn the next page. He’d never done that before, never strayed beyond page 14. Never had the need to, but when he heard the page almost fall by itself, he looked over.

 _Arashi_.

With closed eyes, Izumi remembered Arashi. Wet lips, bruised from far too much activity, bright eyed, whispering all kinds of things as he took him in. Arashi was far too good at that. Sucking him off, knowing where to press, plug, when to hum. Hissing, Izumi spread the leaking precome, stroking himself faster, harder.

He didn’t want to think about Arashi. The idiot was always too much, always over him. Izumi remembered the last shoot, when they were together. Arashi had pressed his front against his back, and Izumi had felt him grow hard there. 

“Shit,” he mumbles, building too fast. “Stupid stupid stupid–”

Together. Some part of him imagined them together. In front of him. Around him. Makoto’s lips around his cock this time, teasing at his balls with his free hand, while the other presses his legs wider apart. Arashi, behind him, all hands and lips and covering skin and teasing muscles. Izumi imagines him at his ear, taunting him like he always does. 

Izumi feels his whole body clench before he realises, and he spills over himself, voice catching just in time before he let the whole house know what was going on. Landing back against his pillows, he stares at the mess, raises his hand.

I’m greedy, he muses. 


End file.
